Memories
by prodigalchicken
Summary: Just a little unbeta'd post 4x19 Bishop family ficlet.


Memories

Rated—Squeaky, squeaky clean

Spoilers—4x19

Summary: Just a little post 4x19 ficlet. Hope you enjoy.

BEFORE

Etta does not have many memories of her parents. She was only four when she lost them. But what memories she does have, she holds close to her heart, recalling them in brief moments of peace. If she were to sit down and write a list of what she remembers, it would be a short list. But it would be her list. These are the things that Etta remembers:

Height .She remembers how tall her father always seemed to her. Granted, she was just a little girl, but he just seemed to dwarf everyone around him. She is not sure if this is a true memory or a childish impression of a larger than life father. For many years, she does not recall his face. But she remembers how tall he seemed to her. She remembers that.

Lemons. She remembers sitting at the kitchen table, no older than two and watching her mother's hands as they sliced lemons for the iced tea that her father was making. She remembers watching the slow and meticulous way those hands cut through the bright, citrus fruit, and how sweet the air seemed. Her mother's face is a blur, but she can see the knife and almost smell the air, and she can feel her father's presence in the room.

Warmth. One night, not long before the Observers arrived and destroyed her perfect little world, Etta had a nightmare. She cried and cried, and then she felt her father's arms surrounding her and pulling her from bed. When she opened her eyes, he was placing her in bed beside her mother. He curled himself around her from the other side, and she found herself surrounded by warmth. Her mother's gentle hands traced her cheek and stroked her hair. Her father's voice was soft in the darkness. She does not remember what he said, but it was soothing and made her feel safe and loved. Her parents created a little space between them just for her where she could feel warm and happy. She fell asleep knowing they would keep her nightmares away.

Dancing. One night she looked up from her crayons and saw her parents holding each other close. They were swaying slightly and her father was humming. Her mother smiled and kissed her father on the forehead first, then his cheek, and finally his lips. She remembers feeling almost embarrassed to have been witness to such a private moment, but she could not look away. This is how she always remembers her parents. Dancing. Loving each other. Forever.

Laughter. Her parents are tickling her, calling her Etta-bear, blowing raspberries on her stomach. She remembers laughing and laughing. There is no more to this memory, but she cherishes it nonetheless.

Etta remembers these things and little more—glimpses perhaps, but nothing very concrete. Her memories of what her parents look like fade away until she can no longer remember anything more than shadows and shapes. She knows her father was tall, and that he had eyes that were as blue as hers. She knows she inherited her mothers blonde hair and bone structure, but she can't remember what they look like. Not really. She has no pictures, no videos. She clings to the few memories she has of them, of the feelings they invoked in her and hopes that one day, she will see their faces again.

AFTER

Etta has new memories of her father. She knows what he looks like, and will remember his face forever. He is as tall as she remembers, and his arms are just as strong, just as comforting. He is not much older than her physically, but he is her father. There's no mistaking that. He will still go to the ends of the earth to protect her, to make the world a better place for her. He still works hard to keep her nightmares away. In his wallet, he has a picture of their family—Mother, Father, Daughter—holding each close and smiling. She knows her mother's face. He tells her stories about their lives before the Purge. About cases he and her mother worked, about David Robert Jones, and a universe that existed right beside their own. He tells her about how happy they were the day she was born to them, and how she was named for a brother who never existed. She listens to the sound of his voice, the deep timbre, the slight New England accent. She takes in the crinkles his eyes make when he smiles, the sound of his laughter. He holds her hand and she relishes the warmth as he tells her about what happened to her mother, about the betrayal of William Bell and how he has plans to save her mother—to take her from where Walter had her safely hidden and ambered—and restore her mind and soul. His voice is quiet when he tells her this, and she senses that he is frightened that he won't succeed. But she squeezes his hand—warm, strong hand. She believes in him. She knows that soon, soon she will have new memories of her family, that they'll hold each other again. That they'll laugh together. And dance.


End file.
